


An Expectation of Tooks

by AlexStone



Series: Tolkientober [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Tolkientober, boys' night out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26855686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexStone/pseuds/AlexStone
Summary: Pippin struggles with the responsibilities of being a Took. Frodo knows that Pippin needs a friend.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins & Pippin Took
Series: Tolkientober [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948141
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	An Expectation of Tooks

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for Day 6 of #Tolkientober, 'Royalty.' I've been very interested in exploring the hobbits' relationship to their families, especially thinking about how Pippin relates to being an aristocrat (his father is a Thain). I feel like this might be the start of a longer series building to the Took Garden Party.

Eglantine Took was having a bad day. The sun was shining, the flowers were blooming, and spring birdsong was floating through the Took estate. The maid had baked a fresh batch of her favourite cinnamon buns, and the scent was floating from the kitchen, through the parlour and dining room and into the sitting room. Her parcels had arrived on time, and Pearl was practicing her pony riding in the gardens. 

The previous weekend Eglantine had made a journey into Bree with her daughter Pimpernel. The Tooks’ annual spring garden party was a highlight for the Shire’s upper-crust society. It was widely considered to be a first outing for debutantes after a long winter, and a chance for philanthropic hobbits to rub shoulders and raise money for good causes. While shopping in Bree she had spotted the most charming three-piece suit. Not only was it a delightful powder blue, embroidered with silver trim and engraved buttons, but the tailor had a talent for appropriate hobbit fits. It was an expensive outfit but, as Eglantine explained to her daughter, one must not show reticence in the face of good investment.

As such, when Eglantine returned this morning from arranging invitations to Hobbiton and found a series of powder blue ribbons chopped and piled on her favourite chaise-lounge, she had the crushing realisation that today was going to be a very bad day.

Her son lounged opposite her, idly twirling a pair of scissors around his index finger. He had not moved since Eglantine had walked into the sitting room and screamed at the sight of the ruined suit. Pervinca and Pimpernel Took had rushed to investigate the noise, and had been held back by Eglantine’s ice-cold glare and a single raised finger. The two sisters giggled, and were clearly eavesdropping on the confrontation, before being shooed along by the housekeeper.

“Peregrin Took,” Eglantine took a deep breath before approaching her son, “could you please explain what happened here?”

Pippin span the scissors around his finger before catching them. “I slipped,” he said, without looking at his mother. 

Eglantine felt her nostrils flare, and she reminded herself to take a breath. She remembered tear-filled conversations with her sister-in-law, and how she would have to take the high road. Her son would not find her so easily perturbed. 

“No matter. We will have it repaired,” Eglantine lied, “in the meantime you can wear one of your father’s suits to the party. Goodness knows your wardrobe had suffered enough… accidents.”

Pippin snorted. “I have something to wear,” he muttered. 

“Please, Peregrin. Your fashions are rarely appropriate,” Eglantine prised the scissors from her son’s hand, and placed them on a nearby coffee table. She realised she was being dismissive again, and attempted a new line, “I spoke with Esmerelda, and Meriadoc is going to be coming. He has a delightful taste in clothing, perhaps you could arrange something with him?”

“Good idea. We can arrange a swap. You can have Merry as a son,” Pippin stood from the sofa. Eglantine heard a slight quiver in his voice and felt her heart ache. What had happened to the boy who had curled in her petticoat and listened to her sing?

“Peregin, I love you,” she said, steadying her voice to not betray her emotions, “and I’m trying to make this work. All I am asking is that you meet me half way. We are Tooks. We have certain expectations placed on us.” 

Pippin turned to look at his mother. How could he explain it? The eyes that would follow him at the party. The feeling of the necktie around his throat. The feeling of not being able to breathe. He pursed his lips tight, a lump rising in his throat. Eglantine took a slow step towards him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It was wrong of me to buy it without your permission,” she stroked Pippin’s hair, “we can go to Bree together tomorrow. I’m certain the tailor can make a new suit for us.”

Pippin pulled away from his mother, and opened his mouth. He thought better of it, and stormed out of the parlour. He almost tripped over Pervinca eavesdropping from the corridor. He shot his sister an ugly look, which made Pervinca blush and scamper away. He checked his pocket watch, and made a quick calculation. Nodding to himself, he grabbed his cloak and slammed the front door behind him. 

The Took estate was unique amongst Hobbit homes in that it was built above the ground. Pippin’s grandfather had certain aspirations for the family that involved entertaining wealthy human merchants. The historic family home still existed in a series of tunnels and converted wine rooms, but Pippin’s father had overseen the completion of a remarkable modern building constructed in the northern style. Long fields and gardens spread out in front of the home, and sounds of the family stables could be heard in the distance. Pippin stormed past elaborate rose bushes and a small army of craftsmen erecting a marquee. He took a right turn at the estate entrance and made a face at the sign on the gate that read “Took Manor.” 

His pace slowed when he reached the open road. He took out his pipe and realised in horror that he was running out of pipe weed. He pinched the remaining brown leaves and placed them in the end of his pipe, before taking a long drag. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders. 

Pippin hated arguing with his family. He was very good at it, but he got no joy from it. There was something unquiet in his mind. It was like a thorn in the middle of his brain that lanced with pain every time he looked at first dances, family arrangements, and suits. He couldn’t stop himself. 

He paused at a crossroads. He knew that Frodo arrived early to sit and read his book. He looked left and right, before spotting an unmistakable tussle of brown hair. Pippin felt mischievous, and crouched to sneak up on his friend.

“My my my, a hobbit should not be spending his days on idle tasks,” Pippin boomed, the wizard Bilbo entertained at Bag-End.

Frodo jumped and looked up, before smiling at Pippin. “You’re early,” Frodo said, closing his book.

“I am never early or late, I arrive precisely when blah blah blah,” Pippin puffed out his chest. The inhale drew a sharp intake of smoke into his mouth, and he immediately began to choke.

Frodo stood and clapped Pippin on the back, and both hobbits laughed. Frodo paused and examined Pippin’s face.

“Are you okay, Pip?” Frodo asked, “you look like you’ve been crying.”

“Me, crying?” Pippin cursed his traitorous eyes, “Not at all. Hayfever. Gets me every year.”

Frodo frowned, noticing the distinct lack of pollen in the air. He decided not to push Pippin any more, and turned to the open road. 

“So, what is the plan for today?” Frodo asked.

Pippin put his finger to his lips thoughtfully. “The first thing order is to get outstandingly drunk,” he said, as if consulting a menu, “then we should spend an obscene amount on money on things neither of us need. Once we’ve done that we can abduct my cousin and find a good hill to smoke on.”

The two hobbits soon found themselves three tankards deep in the Green Dragon tavern. Rosie Cotton had hardly finished clearing their first round when Pippin finished his second. Frodo suggested they pace themselves with a game of cards between rounds, to which Pippin shrugged and agreed. They were soon trading favourite stories about Merry, pink-cheeked and breathless with laughter.

“… so we found him in the pantry, and he had eaten through Bilbo’s entire winter supply of rice cakes and honey!” Frodo explained, and Pippin almost spat his drink across the table. Both hobbits fell forward onto the table, clutching their sides with laughter.

“No… stop… I can’t breathe…” Pippin wheezed, trying to regain his composure.

Frodo asked Rosie to bring some more shots of fire-whiskey to the table, reassuring her that Pippin wasn’t going to throw up like the last time. Pippin eyed the small glass, and theatrically straightened his shirt.

“Now Frodo, you are coming to our party, aren’t you?” Pippin hiccupped.

“I don’t know,” Frodo winced, “I know the Sacksville-Baggins will be there, and I don’t want to cause a scene.”

“To hell with the Sacksville-Baggins!” Pippin roared, causing other hobbits in the bar to turn with concern, “You are my friend! You must come to my party!”

Frodo laughed and made a quietening gesture at Pippin. “Okay, I’ll be there,” he whispered, noticing Rosie’s disapproving glare from across the bar.

“Excellent!” Pippin declared, just as loud as before, “my mother will be thrilled. She’s obsessed with you, you know that? You and Merry. Can’t get a word in edgewise.”

“Okay lads, I think it’s time for a break,” Rosie said, approaching the table with two large glasses of water.

Pippin turned in mock horror to Rosie. Realising the other clients of the Green Dragon looking at him, he placed a hand on his chest and cleared his throat. “Rosie Cotton, you are a dear. This has been a wonderful evening, but we must depart,” he said, annunciating each syllable.

“Sure. We can clear the bill later,” Rosie shot Frodo a knowing look and returned to the bar.

Frodo and Pippin drained their water and stood to leave. They were almost out the door when a stocky hobbit in a pressed white shirt and brown waistcoat passed them, shoulder-barging Pippin. 

“Oops,” the hobbit sneered, eyeing Frodo and Pippin. 

“Theo Bramblethorn, you piece of shit,” Pippin slurred.

Frodo took a step between Pippin and Theo, raising his hands apologetically. “Nice to see you Theo,” he said, placing an arm around Pippin’s shoulder, “we were just leaving.”

“Living up the family reputation, eh?” Theo leaned and looked at Pippin.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Pippin’s voice was low and quickly sobering.

“There are Tooks,” Theo shrugged, “and then there’s you. Heard you’ve been causing problems lately. Heard that your tastes are a bit too… alternative.”

“There better not be any trouble here, boys,” Rosie Cotton appeared next to them in an instant, a dangerous look in her eyes.

“No trouble,” Theo rolled his eyes, “Peregrin was just leaving.”

Frodo sighed, knowing what was coming next. Pippin slowly stepped around Frodo, coming face-to-face with Theo. The two hobbits glared at each other, before Pippin grinned. 

“First, Theo, good to see you. Last time must have been when we caught you peeping on Jenny Twofoot. Charming, that was,” Pippin started, raising his hand to interrupt Theo, ”Second, you’ve got nothing on me. You’re shooting blanks. Wouldn’t be the first time though, right? Third, call me Peregrin one more time and I’ll buy your house and sell it to a Bree compost merchant. I think we are done now. Buh-Bye.”

The colour drained from Theo’s face as Rosie stifled her laughter with her hand. Pippin curtseyed to the tavern, and stepped out into the evening with Frodo. They walked for a moment in silence before erupting into laughter. 

“Did you see his face?” Frodo exclaimed, “He’s going to have nightmares!”

“Please Frodo dear,” Pippin tossed his hair to one side, “Merry would have knocked his lights out. A Took must be respectable, even in battle.”

They walked and laughed until they found themselves at a knoll overlooking Frogmorton. Frodo produced a small pouch of pipe-weed and filled both his and Pippin’s pipe. The trees spread out in front of them, burnt green and orange in the setting sun. A warm breeze ruffled Pippin’s blonde locks, spreading them over his eyes. Frodo blew smoke rings into the breeze.

“Hey Pip, is everything okay?” Frodo rolled onto his side and looked at his friend.

“Of course. Why?” Pippin’s hair covered his eyes.

“No reason,” Frodo sighed, biting his lip, “I’m here if you need to talk about anything. We all are.”

Pippin didn’t respond. Silence fell over the hobbits, as they watched clouds fade from orange to purple. Frodo knew better than to push his friend. Between himself and Merry, Pippin had always been the most talkative. Yet, since their teenage years, Pippin had built a wall around his heart, and would use every word in his vocabulary to keep it safe. Frodo and Merry spoke in concerned tones about it, but Frodo knew that there were some things he didn’t need to understand.

“So,” Pippin took a deep drag from his pipe, “what’s going on between you and Sam?”

Frodo blushed and closed his eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s been good. I feel like he’s waiting for something,” he said.

Pippin pursed his lips. In a flash, he had clambered on top of Frodo and was peering at Frodo’s face. Frodo struggled to free himself, but Pippin pointed his pipe threateningly.

“You look fine,” Pippin frowned, batting away Frodo’s swiping hands, “so something must be wrong with Sam. He looks at you like you’re an elf from beyond the sea. Probably delirious from inhaling too much pollen. He will need to get that checked out.”

Pippin disentangled himself from Frodo. Frodo sat up and straightened his outfit. 

“Sam adores you,” Pippin jabbed Frodo in the chest, “you need to get over yourself and let him love you.” 

Frodo frowned, before exhaling deeply. “I don’t want to let him down,” he sighed.

“Heavens Frodo, you’re dating the boy, not carrying him up a mountain,” Pippin threw his hands in the air, “you’ve got a good thing going. Don’t think yourself out of it.”

Frodo leaned back onto the knoll. It was a good thing. Bilbo’s departure had left Bag-End feeling lonely, but Sam had brought warmth back to it. The days in the garden had become evenings in the study, watching the embers fade. The space between them on the sofa had shrunk, until the only space between their lips were the whispers they shared deep into the night. Frodo kept waiting for it to end, for someone to knock on his front door and whisk him away. But night after night he was reminded at how happy he could be, lost in the deep glow of Sam’s eyes.

Pippin placed his pipe in his breast pocket, and smoothed his hair back. He slowly pulled himself onto his feet, and looked out over the forest. 

“I’m disappointed Frodo,” Pippin shook his head, “we only completed one of my tasks. Underachievement is unbecoming of you.”

“Okay, Pip,” Frodo stood, looking kindly at his friend, “How about you come sleep at Bag-End, and we can finish the other two tomorrow?”

Pippin turned to Frodo. There was a strange expression on his face, clouded by the setting sun. Frodo felt like there were words in Pippin’s mouth that he wasn’t saying, that he was holding behind a thick wall of silence. Pippin eventually exhaled, smiled, and arched his eyebrows.

“Only if I get the master bedroom,” he smirked, “my posture is very delicate, and your guest mattress is unconscionable.”

Frodo smiled, and pulled Pippin in for a deep hug. He felt a shudder run through Pippin’s body. “Anything you want.” he whispered, holding his friend tightly in the fading light.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on twitter at @AlexStoneWriter! Comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> You can find the full list of Tolkientober prompts here: https://twitter.com/hobbitgay/status/1311350783238045696


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